A Sense of Purpose
by LordAnarchy666
Summary: It's just a normal day in the life of Travos Oterian, Mage of the Gandrian Empire. When danger lurks around every corner, can Travos come out on top and stay true to his morals and the Empire? An original tale of magic, action, adventure, and fantasy.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey Jerhyn!" I yelled up to my long time friend in greeting.

He turned around just as I grabbed onto the last grip on the ledge, and helped pull me up onto the rocky shelf.

Jerhyn grunted in reply to my greeting. He seemed to be in a bad mood, and I couldn't blame him. I tried to be positive for both of us.

"What's the report?" I asked.

"Hot. Very sandy. No villages in sight. Nothing out of the ordinary." He responded tiredly. "The same shit it has been for the last 45 days. Remind me, once more, why are we out here in the middle of the fucking Nazgrimah Desert?"

I obliged him, as I had every day for the last 45 days. "It was our choice to join the Imperial Army…"

"Choice? What choice? It was either that, or living inside a dusty library for the rest of our lives. And assigned out here of all places… There's nothing out here!"

I nodded in agreement. "That is why we are here. We are green, barely 2 months out of the Tower. They put us on a low risk mission so we can get the feel of how the army works. Tossing new recruits out into the front line is suicidal, and the commanders know it. Our time will come, my friend."

I sighed. We've gone through this argument every day for the last 45, and probably will for the next 45. You wouldn't know it by looking at us, but he had the second highest marks in the year, while I had some of the lowest. It isn't because I'm dumb, no, it's just that I value practical magic and common sense over knowing a repertoire of flashy spells that I would never get a chance to use anyways.

I've known Jerhyn since we were younglings We both grew up in a small village in Drecilia, all the way on the western side of the Gandrian Empire. My father is a blacksmith, and his, a carpenter. We both discovered our talent for magic at the same time, and we were both enrolled at the Arcane University in the Empire's Capital.

No one knows how one comes into magical powers. Much study has been done on it, but as far as I can tell, it is completely random. There has never been another mage in my family, and it is the same story in Jerhyn's as well. The odds of being magical are probably over 1000 to 1.

You see, I'm a runic mage. Not a wizard. There is a difference, although it is mostly one of occupation. Being in the army, I am a mage, and regardless of whether or not I stay in the army, I will be a mage for life, unless I gain a higher status. I'm a journeyman – that is to say, I am one rank above apprentice, and that means I get real world experience instead of scholarly lessons from one of the masters. I also use runes to express my magic, although there are many other ways, and you are not limited to just one. Runes just happen to be how I express my magic the best.

There are 5 of us in this platoon, legion, brigade, whatever you want to call it. Well, 4 journeymen including Jerhyn and I, and Sorcerer Zargeshi. That is just the mages though, and we are here as support. We don't wear the armor that the foot soldiers do; it restricts our mobility and casting.

That is why there are 50 soldiers with us. Or rather, we are with them. We are patrolling the Nazgrimah Desert in the aptly named Kingdom of Southern Nazgrimah. It is the south-easternmost Kingdom in the Empire. This is the largest Kingdom in the empire by far, but it is largely unpopulated due to the massive desert.

To the west lies the Kingdom of Gandria itself. There are 5 other kingdoms in the Empire; Drecilia to the far southwest, Pradge to the far west, Krul in the North, and then Northern and Southern Nazgrimah.

We left the nearest village of Krizzah 45 days ago, and the border to Gandria lies a further 10 days west of that. You could cut that time in half with horses, or camel if you are lucky, or maybe even two weeks if you have tigers, but our unit is on foot. To the east, somewhere beyond the jungles that lay on the other side of the desert, lies the Republic of Jurai. Or so I'm told. It is quite far away, but they are our ally and we do a lot of trading with them.

The Commander knows the desert fairly well. He is a political rival of General Koelinger, and as such, gets the shitty end of the stick, and has been doing perpetual patrolling of these deserts for the past 15 years. Politics isn't my game, even though my status as a mage gives me a leg up on those without magic.

I don't like to exploit my gift, although I am very much in the minority. Most magic users are haughty, snooty, assholes, and they never forget to remind the average person of their place in society.

That is one of the reasons why I am not well liked by my peers. I do not embrace my gift the way they do. I embrace it exactly as it is: a gift. I treat it with respect, because if you don't, you may just get burnt. It is more than just a tool, and sadly, most mages will never learn this.

It is a way of life.

I don't plan on being in the army for more than a few years. The most important life lessons are learned on the fly and by surprise, not sitting around a table being lectured. Being in the army is about putting what I learned to the test, and maybe learn a few new things along the way.

Working as a group, learning to follow orders, and learning situational awareness… That's all stuff I would never get to experience with city life.

I am not really sure of my ambitions. I am still young by mage standards, but an adult by normal standards. 17 years old. My father was already married by the time he was 17, and here I am, in the middle of a desert, never even having kissed a girl before, let alone have a girlfriend. The 50 men and 0 women in the platoon wasn't helping my case.

Still, Jerhyn couldn't say the same. He specialized in fire magics. Primitive, raw, powerful, and very flashy. And he has a girlfriend. Or perhaps 'had' is the right term nowadays, I don't know. One thing I do know is that it is much easier to be in the army without a significant other waiting for you at home, than it is to know that you will be going months without seeing them, like Jerhyn will be.

I looked down upon the sand below us. The rock shelf we are on is part of a ridge that ran for a few thousand paces in either direction, before submerging back into the desert. Below us lay the encampment, and I see that they are starting to pack up and preparing to begin the days march towards the east.

I gave a look over towards Jerhyn, and he gave me a nod in return. At once, we raced over to the edge of the rock, kneeled down, and reached for hand holds. I pulled myself over and began my descent.

The ground was only about 50 feet below us. I lowered myself a few more feet, looking for better grabs, before seeing the cleft to my right. I teetered over to it, and was glad to see a lot of outcroppings. I took one in my right, and then quickly grabbed the one lower with my left, and began a fast decent to the ground.

I made a small leap to a precipice to my right, before swinging myself down to another small ledge. I got a good hold with my left hand and took a quick peek to see where Jerhyn was. Less than 10 feet above me, but 30 to the right, and facing a nasty looking section of rock.

My right hand made a solid grab onto the cliff, and I swung back to where I first came from, but about 15 feet lower.

It was a clean downwards climb to the bottom, and it took no more than 15 seconds to reach it. I brushed the dirt off my hands and was glad to see that I beat Jerhyn by a full 2 seconds. A ladder could not have got me to the ground faster.

You see, Jerhyn and I have always been competitive. He was the smarter one, and had the best looking girlfriend in the year (although to be honest, that isn't saying much), and was bound for a high paying, well respected, career. While I may have had some of the worst markings in the year, I was the best fighter. I put a marginal effort into maintaining my body, unlike most of the others. I had some hand-eye coordination, and I had a good sense of balance. I won most of my duels.

Again, this did not endear me to my peers. I did not follow the norm. I did not do magic for the sake of magic, or to impress people. I use magic because it is a part of me. I wouldn't be surprised if some of Jerhyn's other friends use magic to wipe their own asses, that's how entitled they think they are.

"I win again." I proclaimed. I extended my hand and Jerhyn shook it in acceptance of defeat.

"Good one, Travos. You know I'm not good at this physical stuff like you are, but that doesn't mean I won't try my damndest."

"I know, I know" I agreed. There wasn't much he wasn't good at, but unlike other mages, he had the ability to be humble and modest. Sometimes. Occasionally. Ok, rarely.

We made our way through the scattering of troops disassembling their canvas tents. They wore the 'traditional' armor of the Imperial Army. The Empire has only been in existence for 24 years, so I am unsure how much 'tradition' there really is. Regardless, their ensembles included chain mail suits over leather padding, and large kite shields. And green is our identifying color, with the symbol of a lion.

I took pity on that armor in these climates, but then again, they are lucky they are not wearing plate. At least the sand can sift through the chain, but with plate, there would be chafing all day long.

It did not take more than a minute to spot Commander Haephmos. It was not very hard to find him. His tent was identical to the others, as was his armor, so he did not stand apart in that regards.

No, it was his large size that identified him. He was easily a foot taller than me, and I was only a couple inches under 6. The man was huge by Drecilian standards, but then again, he did hail from Krul.

Krullians were sort of rare amongst the general populace. They were born in the frozen north, and they generally tended to stay there. Off the top of my head, I think I've only met 4 other people who hailed from Krul. And this winter warrior was in the middle of a scorching desert.

And the amazing thing is, on this planet, it gets a whole lot hotter the father south you go. So hot, that humans cannot live. So hot, the very ocean boils in a continuous cycle of steam to rain. Ancient texts tell of other races living down there, rumors of bipedal felines and tusked warriors, but if such things exist, they have had nothing to do with the empire.

All myths have some basis in factuality though. We know of the existence of dwarves, and we know where three of their kingdoms are in the north. We know of the existence of orcs, because until 24 years ago, half of the Empire was conquered by them. We know the myths and legends about the elves, even if they have not been seen in thousands of years, we have evidence of their lives in the ruins of cities all across the Empire.

Thankfully those days are history, and the orcs were routed back in their homelands of Groshka. I do believe though, that anything is possible. Being a mage lends credence to that.

We walked up towards the Commander, who was watching his men pack in an orderly fashion. He stood there; arms crossed and corded muscled bulging. He wore a plate helm, but his thick wiry beard stuck out the bottom of it. He looked tough and intimidating, and he was, but he was actually a very pleasant fellow, so I've found.

Then again, he didn't become a Commander collecting wool spools. He became a Commander because he was ruthless, authoritative, and most importantly of all, very effective at his job.

He nodded as he greeted us in turn. "Magus Oterian, Magus Mragan. We march in 15. Sorcerer Zargeshi is over there."

I looked over where he was pointing, noticing his voiced distaste at the sorcerer, and nodded my thanks. I did not like the sorcerer either, but in life, you are going to meet a lot of people you don't like. The Commander did not even have to greet us by our titles, as his position was above even that of the sorcerer. That was the kind of man the Commander was though. He treated everyone with respect, fought for what was right, and never complained. The world needed more of him.

We headed over to where the other 3 mages were. If this were the first week of the patrol, we would have traded jibes back and forth, but we simply fell into routine. I didn't really get along well with them, but I did not have to like the men in order to work with them. That is an important life lesson.

Each one of us are charged with setting up and maintaining a ward. A ward is a piece of protection magic cast around an area. They come in many shapes, sizes, forms, and flavors.

I was in charge of the insect ward. It repelled insects around the camp, and it was more of a luxury than anything. But I could do without being devoured by locusts during the night.

Jerhyn was tasked with the temperature control. The twin suns that circle the south end of our planet make the desert extremely hot at times, and with magic, our unit can suffer a little less. That was our prime reason to being assigned in this unit, it was to make the trip more bearable, not to fight in battle should the need ever arise.

Sorcerer Zargeshi handled concealment. He shrouded our campsite in haze, to distort our images. From anything more than a few hundred feet away, you would not even see us.

Magus Mikol had a similar ward, except it was a diversion ward. If you were looking at our camp from close up, your eyes would skip right over us. It was as if we blended in to the background, or were simply the most boring and bland thing in the world and undeserving of the seekers attention. The magic affected the onlooker, unlike Zargeshi's which affected the area.

Magus Branson's ward was also in a similar vein. He had a physical anti-tracking ward up. Physical, in the sense that it covered up our smell and noise, and the smoke from the fires. They helped hide our camp from a distance, but there is a threshold and if you got close enough the ward would not be effective at all. A more powerful mage could possible make one that was effective up to their very body. But Branson, being a journeyman like me, and the amount of people he had to cover, was good for about 250 feet. That is well within our visual distance, so it is not a problem.

Those were just the major wards that we have been putting up and taking down, every single day, and will continue to do. There were other wards as well, various sentry and trigger wards to alert us of outsider presence, and even smaller things like a freshening ward at the makeshift latrine.

The thing with warding is that it needs a physical object to be tied, or bound to. Perhaps physical is not the right word, but it needs a representation of intent.

For our use in the desert, circles are very useful. You simply draw a circle in the sand around the camp, and flow the magic through it. The magic prevents the circle from breaking, and the only one who can break it easily is someone on the inside of the circle. A mage on the outside of the circle could deconstruct the wards, but first they would have to discover its existence. Ward breaking is a very extensive and hard field of study, one far above my level. I can make and unravel my own, but to do someone else's would be extremely tricky. If you make a wrong step, you could be killed.

We don't have any defensive wards like that, as we are not expecting to be attacked at all. It also takes a tremendous amount of power to maintain a ward without an external power source- leylines and crystal powerstones and the like. A defensive ward is usually only cast on permanent structures, such as house.

What we have are temporary. Easy to put up and easy to take down, but effective. We choose a circle because of the ease of use, and the effectiveness. A proper circle has no weak sides, as they are all the same. No corners and no straights. A circle is stronger than a square. It is also much easier to draw wards concentric to each other.

My ward is on the very outside of the system, so I wait a few minutes while the other mages all deconstruct theirs. I simply lay a grounding rune, in case of backlash, and scrub the sandy circle with my foot, breaking it. Simple, yes, but only truly effective if you know the purpose of the ward and how it works. Otherwise, you might fry your brain with rogue magic.

Once all the wards were down, you could see the difference right away. It was hotter, drier, and brighter, and that is not to mention the sound of insects.

Still, it could be worse. It could be hotter, it could be drier. I could be wearing 40 pounds of armor, and another 30 in gear.

Sometimes, I was happy to be a mage. I got to wear a light padded tunic, in the traditional imperial green, and carry around 20 pounds of supplies. There are spells to reduce the weight of items, but maintaining it for long periods of time could be just as taxing as walking, depending on how powerful the spell was though. It's usually more convenient to just carry items the old fashioned way.

I was hardy even sweating in the morning sun. The soldiers gathered up into a loose column before starting the march off east. Commander Haephmos estimated that we are less than 2 days away from the jungle, and once there, we would set up camp for a month, before heading back, while another unit went out to take our place. It was one big circle.

No words were spoken as we started our march. It wasn't because we were shy, or had hangovers. No, it was a precaution. We had to be careful outside of the safety of the wards. We did not want to give our position away. We are the ones suppose to be tracking, not the other way around.

If the whole desert knew where we were marching, then that defeats the purpose since they could just go around our position.

Realistically though, it was just good practice. Never let your guard down. There are trade routes that cross the desert, and with trade routes comes bandits. That's why our unit is 50 men strong.

The trade routes never stayed in the same place though, but granted, that is more of a result of the constantly shifting sand than anything else.

Bandits were easy though, unlike the barbarian hordes of the north that the rest of the Imperial Army were constantly skirmishing with. Bandits came in groups of 5 to 10, and we had more than enough full trained warriors to take any on we came across, and we have. And let's not even mention the Groshkan slavers.

I sighed to myself. It was another day in paradise. Another day of using easy spells I learnt in my first year, and another day of learning that the real world is not all puppy dog tails and sunshine like it was back at the Tower.

But at least the pay is good.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Jerhyn!"

"What?" He responded.

We've been marching east for about 3 hours now, and it would be another 2 before we stopped for lunch.

"Want to play a game?" I asked.

He groaned. He knew the score. It was routine, we've played it every day for the past 45 days now. Not that any of us were counting… "Alright. Hit it."

"I spy with my little eye… something that starts with 'S'"

He heemed and hawed for a minute, faking confusion. "I don't know…. Sky?"

"Yeah! Your turn."

"I spy with my little eye… something that starts with 'S'"

"Hmmm." I pondered this for a few seconds, feigning interest. "Sand!"

"Yup. Go."

"I spy with my little eye, something that starts with 'S'"

He looked around, pretending to find something that started with the letter S. "The sun!"

"Got it in one."

"My turn now. I spy, with my little eye, something that starts with the letter 'S'"

"I don't know… The other sun?"

"You're too good at this." He replied.

I grinned. It was the small things in life. "I spy with my little eye…"

"I swear if you pick "S" again…" Jerhyn jokingly punched me in the shoulder. The nameless soldiers behind us chuckled. They knew the routine as well.

We marched in silence after that.

* * *

Lunch is a simple affair, unlike dinner. We set up temporary camp. No fires are made, as no one wants a hot meal at this time of the day. Leftovers from the night before, and water. Well, some of us have water, but I have a sneaking suspicion that others have gin.

Either way, we carry a lot of water with us. It's more important than blood is in this desert.

Conjuring water is possible, but I'm a novice conjurer at best. None of us here are. Abjurers and evocators the lot of us – defensive and offensive magics that is. Zargeshi is also an illusionist, as shown by his camouflaging wards. The problem with conjuring something like water is that it will not have any sustenance, it will still be magic. It still has it uses though.

He's a slippery trickster, that man. I spot him sitting near Haephmos, chewing on a biscuit. The sorcerer is native to these lands, albeit it from one of the great sandstone cities to the north, and not this desert. He's tall, has a distinctive light brown skin, and long black hair. He's dangerous, and powerful, and I am thankful he is on our side.

I reached into my bag and pulled out one of my personal items. It's a large bronze coin with an odd looking H symbol on it. A rune for safety.

I palmed it for a few seconds. Just thinking about this journey, and how I was longing to finally reach the outpost. I was about to put it back in the bag and finish my adequate trail lunch, but I thought better of it and slipped it into my belt pouch instead.

The pouched contained various catalysts for my magics. They are not required, but they do help. Various colored crystals, leaves, rocks, and other odds and ends all enable me to cast unfamiliar spells.

On-the-fly spells, I suppose. They are multi-purpose. Sometimes the reagents are the focus, sometimes the intent, or sometimes the trigger. Magic is weird like that. Unpredictable and beautiful, yet dangerous and steadfast. Everyone has their own, slightly different way of casting their magic.

I watch Jerhyn talk with Branson for a bit. I don't like him very much, but it seems like him and Jerhyn have hit it off. Oh well. I've known Jerhyn for the better part of my life- I'll live if he socializes with other people.

The break was probably less than an hour long. It was hard to tell with two suns blazing over our heads. It did not take long to pack up our makeshift camp, and be on our ways once more.

Now the real reason I wasn't using any levitation or weight reducing magic on my own gear becomes evident. It is my turn to haul our cargo.

We have a chilled crate of food. And I mean food in the most generalized term, there's probably beer and the like in there as well, but it's none of my business as long as we get to eat.

A different mage has to lug around the chest for before lunch, and after lunch. We essentially turn into pack camels. Why lug a crate around when you can have a mage levitate it? It's not easy, but it is good for our endurance I suppose. Using magic for long periods of time slowly strengthens it, but you have to make sure not to overdo it. That is why we rotate turns, and that is why a lot of journeymen get stuck with the job. As an apprentice, I would estimate over three quarters of what we did was theoretical work, because let's face it, there is less chance of blowing ourselves up if we are not casting anything.

Sure, it's safer that way, but sometimes a trial by fire is exactly what we need. But still, I can't help but feel that it is undignified. Then again, I am the lowest guy on the ladder, even if I am a mage. Shit rolls down hill. We're only human.

I walk over to the crate and take a soft stone out of my pouch. I draw a circle on the wood, and inside the circle I draw a symbol that looks vaguely like a feather.

Magic is all about belief, intent, and willpower. To anyone else, that symbol doesn't mean anything. But to me, that symbol means flight. Just like with my coin, it's just a symbol that I have given meaning too, and with magic, that is enough. It's the same way with holy relics. They have power, because we, the people, have given them power through the centuries. Magic is quirky like that- you would almost think it is sentient.

Perhaps it is? Who am I to say differently? I'm only human.

With a motion of my hand, the crate rises off the sand. Another motion and its following me. I feel the strain, but it's nothing I can't handle.

"All ready, Commander," I report. He nods back and motions for his men to fall into line.

I step into line next to a man I recognize by face, but don't know by name. We start the trek east, once more into the breach you could say. We stick to the top of the dunes, even though that may seem counterproductive. It is impossible to see any amount of distance when you are between dunes, but when you are on top of them, you can see the world.

The hours pass easily. Mostly I just listen to other soldiers tell stories to each other- most repeats, but some new. Most are not meant for children's ears, being about conquests in bed or battles they have fought in.

I don't have any of those stories of my own, so I just listen. Eventually I stop hearing the conversations as an old tavern song popped into my head.

_We in our wandering,__  
Blithesome and squandering,__  
Tara, tantara, teino! _

_Eat to satiety,__  
Drink to propriety;__  
Tara, tantara, teino!_

_Laugh till our sides we split,__  
Rags on our hides we fit;__  
Tara, tantara, teino!_

_Jesting eternally,__  
Quaffing infernally.__  
Tara, tantara, teino*!_

* * *

It still light out when we eventually stop for the night. That's the problem with deserts- the amount of daylight is three times the amount of nightfall.

Just as the soldiers were setting up makeshift tables, I spot something on the dunes. It's a group of people, but the glare from the suns prevents me from a better look. I point them out to the Commander, but he had already spotted them himself.

The groups of strangers start walking down the hill with their hands up in the air, in a universal symbol of surrender. I see it is one tall man, with six women with him. I can tell they are natives by their skin color and clothing.

I can also tell these women are prostitutes. The way they are dressed is a dead giveaway. Granted, it is hot out, but they were dressed very provocatively.

I shake my head. The women all looked between 25-30, and all very attractive for sure. I see some of the soldiers oogling the women already and rubbing their hands together.

Disgusting.

I see Commander Haephmos talking with the tall man in hushed voices. I see a look of grimace come across his face, but motions with his hands to the soldiers.

The 'handler' says something in a language I don't recognize and immedietly the women break off into the camp and start mingling for customers.

I turn around and I notice that a dozen tents have quickly set up- hours before the normal time.

Dinner was a special affair now. The cook was now cooking for extras, and wasn't skimping back on anything. It would be a prime meal tonight, but at what cost?

I suppose that is what the Commander was mulling over.

Jerhyn sits down next to me, and I see him checking out one of the women I was checking out. Brunette, busty, I like, but, I would never pay for sex. I have a moral compass that is not exactly the same as everyone else. Apparently Jerhyn is part of that 'everyone else.'

"Travos, you going to go for a round?" He asks.

"What?"

"You know, with one of the woman?"

"No." I reply.

"2 Goldans for 15 minutes." He says wistfully. That's not cheap, but we are in the middle of the desert, and let's face it, these men have been sexless for at least the last 45 days. They're horny, and sex sells. These women are going to make the bank today. Let me put this in perspective. A Goldan is an Imperial Standard currency. I'm sure they would sell their 'service' for cheaper if it was in the local currency, but they know we are military. 2 Goldans is 2 weeks of pay, and gone in 15 minutes... No thanks.

10 Goldans would buy you a good horse. 10 Silveens would get you a short sword, and there's a 100 Silveens per Goldan. And there is 100 bronzies per silveen. A loaf of bread will cost you 15 bronzies. There are larger coins as well, but they are much rarer. Buying property would either be in Goldans, or Tulvers. 10 Tulvers could also buy you one of the most prestigious steeds in the kingdom- a Gandrian Tiger.

"What about Jenna?" I ask. That's his girlfriend.

"What about her?"

_Ah_. "Nothing. It's your life." I've heard the stories about military relationships. You leave as girlfriend/boyfriend. The long distance relationship doesn't work out well. They either move on, or in a play to stay together, the man asks the girl to marry her. So now the fiancé would be faithfully waiting for the man to come back, sweep her away, and marry her.

I thought Jerhyn would be that type of man. I guess not. He sees a slice of ass he likes and he jumps aboard. I can't blame him, even though I wanted to. If you're old enough to be in the military, you're old enough to drink and fuck. That's what my father told me.

I shiver to think how many men these women will go through before Jerhyn gets his moment of glory. I finish my meal in silence as Jerhyn starts talking in an excited voice with Branson. Something about doubles and halfsies- I don't want to know.

It finally starts to get dark out. I conjure up a ball of light, and the other mages follow suit. They hover above the camp, creating just enough light to see when it becomes dark, but not enough to be blinded.

I didn't see where Jerhyn went off to, and I don't really care.

I see our Commander and the stranger both sitting next to each other, watching to proceedings. I walk over to them. Haephmos may be higher rank, but right now, we are just both men.

He nods respectfully to me. "Magus."

"Commander."

"Surely a young fellow like you is going to partake in the festivities?"

I shake my head. "No."

He didn't respond and just continues to watch his men. I noticed that both of the leaders were doing the same thing. Haephmos was watching out for his men, and the stranger was watching out for the women.

I decide to test the boundary. "You?"

He sakes he head. "Married."

_Ah._ "But that doesn't stop everyone, does it. Why do you let it go on?"

Haephmos gives me an odd look I can't place. "It does." He confirmed. "It's their lives. I keep my personal life and my military life separate. As for why… It's good for the morale. I forgo my own personal convictions for the night and let the men have a well earned break. You've experience the trip here. It's not pleasant. It's hot, sandy, and tedious. If allowing these women in the camp make the men happy, then it is worth it."

I then realize that these two men, no matter how different they are appearance-wise and profession-wise, are not so different after all. They are both trying to make a living.

"Does this happen often?" I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

"More often than the general public would ever know." The Commander reaches into a pocket and pulls out the pipe. He lights it with a flint strike and takes a puff. "These men kill for a living. They defend our empire. Who are we to begrudge them?"

I nod. I hear the unsaid word. _Tolerance._ "All because we tolerate something, does not mean we have to approve of it. It's downright disgusting in my opinion, but it's their choice."

The stranger addresses me this time. "Come back to me in 5 years, and I bet you will be singing a different tune."

"Maybe."

"War changes people." The Commander adds.

"We are at peace though."

"But for how long? Barbarian raids in the north. Unease in the west. War is inevitable; we just don't realize that yet."

"And here we are, in the middle of the South Nazgrimah Desert, away from all the action."

Haephmos takes another puff of his pipe before simply replying. "Politics."

"Sometimes a more bloody fight than the war itself." The stranger adds.

"Ain't that the truth." Haephmos grunts.

I take that as my cue to leave and go to my own tent. It's dark out now, and most of the men have smiles plastered on their faces. I wonder why.

I unroll my bed mat and quickly ready myself for a night of sleep. Before 5 minutes have even passed, I hear moaning and other sounds of lovemaking coming through the air. It's hard to sleep like that.

A quick silencing ward later and the ambient noise turns into a dull murmur. I sigh in content as I lay back down and ready myself for a long sleep.

888

I'm not sure how long I slept. I was in that weird phase of sleeping when you are sort of aware of your surroundings, but you are sort of in the dream realm as well. I was right on the brink of deep sleep when I notice the noises outside getting louder.

At first I think that my ward was simply getting weaker as a I slept, but that was not the case. The magic wasn't bound to me, it was bound to the tent. I wouldn't matter if my concentration lapsed. I also realized that it was a lot brighter outside than it should be.

All this registers in my mind, and I snap up out of my sleep. Something is wrong. I throw back the cloth flap to the tent, and I realize that _everything_ is wrong.

The last rays of sunlight were still showing as the second sun made its departure over the horizon. But the light I was seeing was far too bright.

It's the campsite. It is on fire. The moans of passion had been replaced by screaming. The women are nowhere to be seen, and I suspect the stranger is gone as well.

I reach back into my tent and throw a shirt on, along with my pouch, and quickly rush back out.

The sounds of screaming have been replaced with sounds of clashing steel. That can only mean one thing; we are under attack.

A brief surge of panic rises through me. I've never been in a real battle before. Our previous skirmishes with bandits and desert beasts have always been on our terms, when we had the strengths of numbers and skill. I can use a sword moderately well, but if it came down to it, could I win? Could I win against someone else who is trying to kill me?

What magic do I use? Who do I use it against?

That becomes my focus. I look around to try and see who needs the most help. To my right I see Commander Haephmos' towering form swing his greatsword down through the helm of another man, and cleaving straight down into his chest.

He screams out "REMORSE IS FOR THE DEAD!" upon slaying an enemy.

No, he doesn't need my help.

I briefly process the fact that the assaulters are wearing military garb, and they seemed trained. They are not bandits. That means this is a coordinated attack.

The panic never quite leaves me as I see one of our men get run through with a sword, drop to the ground, and stop moving.

Out of my peripheral I see a column of fire explode and an angry yell. I turn around, and see that Jerhyn had just roasted another man with his magic, and wounded another with his sword..

It was almost surreal as I watch my best friend of a dozen years finish him off. It was also surreal when a massive hulk of a man, even larger than Haephmos, emerges from the surrounding and plunges a spear straight through Jerhyn.

I can't believe my eyes. Two things happen simultaneously. I register the colors the man and the mob of attackers are wearing. Red. The red of Groshka. Groshka is a hostile kingdom to the west of the empire. In fact, until 25 years ago, they controlled Pradge and Gandria. Luckily my homeland of Drecilia was untouched, mostly due to the large River Sherth that separates us. I immedietly wonder why these brutish looking humans are many months march away from their homeland. Whatever the reason, it's bad.

I see my best friend fall to the ground. I don't know if he's dead, and I don't want to think he is either, and in a fit of rage I call my magic up to my hands. My brain calls for the blood of that man.

A draw a viciously quick zigzag through the air and flick my fingers at the hulking man. A lightning bolt arcs through the air as a result. I see the man turn, and I must say, I have seen prettier orcs than this man, and this man hails from the same region as them.

The lightning bolt rips through the air in under a second, but it impacts against an invisible shield. A loud gong sound is the only result, but now I have the man's attention as well several others.

I draw two circles in the air- one with my right, and one with my left. Fire forms in the circle and I send the flaming projectiles at the man with nothing but a thought.

Once again, the fireballs impact on an invisible curtain of air. This makes me even angrier. That man is not even a mage. My fire is not as strong of Jerhyn's but being as I do not specialize in an element, all of my spells are of the same level. It is more of a mental barrier than the magic that makes it so. Jerhyn thinks his fire is stronger, and as a result, he thinks his water is weaker. The human mind thinks like that, and it takes many years of practice to get all of your magic up to the same level of your specialization, years that neither one of us have had yet.

Thankfully though, my generalist magic is more to my favor. I don't like to rely on any one spell. It is with this thought that a draw a crude arrow-shaped rune in the air, and form it into a piece of ice.

A vicious wave of my arm sends the icy missile toward the man, and I grin in triumph when it smashes into his chest plate. Ice shards fly everywhere from the collusion, and I note the man falls to a knee, clutching at his armor.

Damn. I can't sling spells like that all day. Especially not now. I see that our men are vastly outnumbered. Maybe three to one or more.

I realize that this may very well by my last day alive.

Before I can send another spell at the hulking man, a sword and shield carrying man jumps in front and faces off against me. I noticed the polished surface of the shield for what it is; a magicbreaker.

Somehow the enemy knew our platoon would have mages with them, and those shield are not cheap or easy to make.

I know I will have a hard time taking this man down. Direct magic would not do much of anything as the shield would deflect almost anything. I could use environmental magic, like creating quicksand, or roots, or drop something with a lot of mass on him.

I have no time for that though as the man bears down only 15 feet away from me. I unsheathe my sword in an even move. It's a well made sword, as are all mage swords. The metal is an elementum-steel alloy. It can infused, or imbued with our magic. Not much good it will do though, if the wielder is inexperienced at sword fighting, or your opponent has a magicbreaker shield.

Luckily though, the blade is very sharp, and will kill just fine. It's me that I have to worry about though.

Sweat starts to form at my temples, and it's not from the heat of the desert. I try to calm my nerves, but I can't. I decide to funnel that nervousness into the fight at hand. I pull all my anger, fear, and nervousness into my strength, my power.

I wait for him to make the first move. He has the advantage of the shield, and I have the advantage, of well, desperation.

The situation looks grim. This man is a trained soldier, I'm a journeyman mage. The man comes at me with an angular slash. I hope back out of the way and come in with my own overhead swing, aiming and his sword arm. He parries it with his own sword. I lunge again, but he sidesteps.

I am forced to parry his sword as he counter attacks. I parry his riposte as well, and I make a dash for his chest, but get deflected by his shield. My sword goes wide, and he smashed his shield into my chest.

I get knocked back, nearly onto my ass. I am thankful that shield did not have a spike on it. I see the blade coming at my chest a second too late, and throw myself back, barely in time. My shirt slices open, and blood droplets splash onto the sand from where he grazed my chest.

I look down for a quick inspection. It's not deep, but it is my own blood and not his. Now I'm really pissed off.

I retreat back a few steps to give myself a few more seconds to recuperate. The assailant closes in for the kill, but I am not ready to die.

My sword is out in front of my, slightly off to the side, waiting to strike. A few more steps are given, and then I see an opportunity. It is not one for the sword, but one for the magic.

The blood I left on the sand from my wound now lay behind the attacker. Blood is more than just blood to a mage. It is our very essence. It is the most potent source of our magic. Blood magic is looked down upon my most, due to its very nature.

Blood is also one of the best conductors of magic, and the most easiest to influence. A practitioner of blood magic can bend even the most steadfast of men to their will with a sample of their blood.

Such magic is not talked about in polite company, and definitely not taught in any magical school.

I simply use the magic as a catalyst, instead of a nefarious focus. The magic in the blood sparks to life, and with a motion of my hand, the flaming blood latched onto the man's backside, uninhibited by the magicbreaker shield.

The man screams in surprised agony. I waste no time in plunging my sword into his chest. The look of surprise becomes permanently etched on his face as his heart explodes upon contact with my blade.

Barely a second passes by before I realized I just killed a man for the very first time. I fight back a brief wave of nausea. I remember the words Commander Haephmos yelled not 5 minutes ago. Remorse is for the dead.

I see that Haephmos is still fighting strong, but sporting several wounds. About 2 dozen of our men are still standing, but probably not for much longer. I don't see any other mages standing.

Well, that is not entirely true. I swivel my head around and see a man staring straight at me from 25 feet away. He's garbed in a red mages rob of high quality.

He doesn't spare me any words as a bolt of pure magic launches from his hands. His robes twirl around him in an invisible wind, along with his black hair.

The magic bolt was very strong, so I opt for the safe route and duck the magic instead of blocking it. I get to my feet quickly and shoot off a small ball of lightning.

Apparently, it wasn't very strong as the enemy mage opts for destroying the magic in route with another piece of raw magic.

What I wasn't expecting though, was for him to turn that raw magic into a ball of poison in midflight. I dodged once more, and it missed me by inches. I looked on in horror where the magic hit the sand, it melted it into an unappetizing gloop.

With desperation still on my side, I spun around and focus the might of my power into one spell. Ice shards shimmered into existence in front of me, and I shot them at the mage with the force of a crossbow bolt.

He was not so easy taken though. A wall of fire appeared before him, to melt the ice before it could hit him. In response, I funneled even more magic into my spell.

The ice shards grew even larger, but I knew it was not enough. This man was in a league beyond me, and probably beyond Zargeshi, wherever he was.

I was surprised to hear an agonizing grunt of pain as I dropped my ice shard attack. The fire shield dropped a second later, and I beheld the mage. He face was burnt, probably not from his fire, but from the boiling water that was left over from my spell. I smiled in grim satisfaction.

Before I can even think of a spell to use, I see a shiny object form in the mages hand before flying straight at me.

It hit me before I could even move an inch. The conjured sword passed straight through my abdomen. I felt blood leaking out of me like a river.

The last thought I have before blacking out is _"Shit."_

* * *

_Author's Notes_

_This is the start of my original fiction. I'm only an amateur writer with no formal writing, so the purpose of posting this is simply for feedback. There shouldn't be too many spelling mistakes, but there are probably some grammatical errors, especially when it comes to past/present tenses and active and passive voice. _

_Also, if you like my stories, I suggest you check out my profile everyone once in awhile. I post frequent updates/status reports, so if you are curious to the status of one of my stories, it is a good place to check. I've got 5.9 chapters complete, and I will post the next 3 tomorrow._

_*__From: Frederic Austin Ogg, ed.,__A Source Book of Mediaeval History: Documents Illustrative of European Life and Institutions from the German Invasions to the Renaissance,__(New York, 1907, reprinted by Cooper Square Publishers (New York), 1972), pp. 351-359_


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up.

I was not expecting that. I was expecting to be dead.

But I'm not.

In fact, I'm soaking wet, and washed up on a bank of a river. The two suns are shining bright over head, and I have to squint my eyes as I look around. I see several bodies on the river bank as well, all obviously dead.

I'm not one to second guess how I'm still alive. The wound on my chest is healed, but you can still see the pink line. My shoulder has a deep gash on it though, I'm not sure how it got there, but it probably happened after I blacked out. The hole in my abdomen is gone, like it never even existed. They probably thought the killed me, and threw me into the river with the rest of the bodies.

Commander Haephmos told us the river was still a few days away. Perhaps he told us that, so we would be surprised and happy when the river was only a few hours away? It doesn't matter now. They are all dead.

That hasn't quite sunk in yet.

What has sunk in is the fact that I am alone, in the middle of who knows where, with nothing more than the clothes on my back.

No sword, and no pouch.

I survey my surrounding around me in closer detail. The river banks are lightly wooded on both sides, with shrubbery. I see some small game making their home in the trunk of a fallen tree.

Out of the corner of my eye I see something shiny about 10 feet away. I walk closer to it and bend down to see what it is.

It's my coin, with my symbol for safety etched into it. I palm it, reflecting on the past few days for a moment.

Is this a coincidence? Did the coins passive magic save my life? Or was it just the latent ability of a mage to heal faster than a normal human that saved me?

I tucked the coin into my waist-band when I see something shiny out of the corner of my eye once again.

It was 2 armored people, being chased by a group of 5. The runner's armor look to be white from a distance, and I didn't recognize them. The chasers were wearing the red of Groshka.

Man, I'm really starting to fucking hate that place. These people were not even the native humans, they were the native _orcs_. A blind man would notice how grotesque these males look. They are not necessarily born ugly or grotesque, but many of the warriors purposely disfigure themselves to show how much of a badass they are. It's as sign of masculinity I guess, similar to war scars.

The two runners were dressed in heavy plate armor, and they could not run very fast. It was not the weight of the armor, as it is impossible to tell the weight of it from a distance, it was the spear shaft that was sticking out of the thigh of one.

The orcs were faster. I watched in horror they gained a foot on them every second. I knew I had to do something, and quick. If not to save their lives, then to sate my thirst for vengeance.

I had to get a clear line of sight so my spells wouldn't bounce off a tree. I ran as fast as I could tangentially, but I was very sore.

I ran my quickest, but it was not enough. An orc got within range of the uninjured runner, hefted a spear, and threw it right into the back of the leg. I saw it penetrate all the way through, and knew it was over.

The soldier was probably dead within seconds, and he collapsed to the ground. The other person kept on running, looking back only once to see an orc mercilessly slice the soldiers throat.

The remaining runner was still running, but I could see from a distance that the hope of survival was gone. A branch got in the runner's way, and he went end over end to the ground. By the time he was up on his feet, the orcs were only 20 feet away.

The singular orc that was on the dead soldier was right in front of me. He didn't even see my spell coming, and my lightning bolt fried its brain.

I did not stay to look at my handiwork, or realize that I just killed for the second time ever, but I ran towards the last person.

As I got into range, I saw the person collide with a tree, and turn around to face his attackers. An orc shoved a spear straight into the shoulder, exploiting the weakness of the plate's joint. I hear a loud agonizing scream come from the soldier. A loud, _feminine,_ scream.

I quickly notice that the chest plate is indeed a female chest plate. It wasn't the cupped stlye, but just a larger angular single cavity in the front. I also notice that the orcs know this too, as the one is already taking his armor off.

Groshkan orcs are known for their brutality… and their raping. There are a lot of half orcs around, mostly in the 25-35 year old range from when the kingdom was occupied. And I doubt a single one of those was legitimate. They are doomed to live their lives in disgrace. They are not welcomed in our society, even if their mother is native.

Rape is disgusting. It is not tolerated in this kingdom. Even the army does not turn a blind eye for their soldiers. Some things are worse than death, and I would not stand by to watch the hapless women get savaged.

All four orcs were taking their armor now, but I doubt the lady would even survive much longer. I doubt the orcs care. A body stays warm for awhile after death, and I doubt they are concerned about the fact that necrophilia is wrong on so many levels.

I get within casting range, and luckily none of them have notice me yet. I waste no time reach deep within my inner self for my magical potential. I briefly debate what spell to use, but I don't care as long as there dead.

I opt for fire. They won't die instantly, they will burn, and smolder, before the oxygen is sucked out of their lungs. They will probably die of asphyxiation before their wounds. And that is the point. I hope they suffer.

A single word comes to the forefront of my mind, as the large fireball I've ever created springs forth from between my hands.

_BURN!_

It's a veritable meteor that smashes into the orcs. The force of the flame actually knocks them to the ground, before lighting their clothes on fire. They are wearing leather as padding, and I watch in grim satisfaction as it melts against their skin. Their screams echo through the forest, before it suddenly becomes quiet.

Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe they did die of their wounds before they died from the lack of air. Oh well. Not wasting any time, and not wanting to take any chances, I pick up one of the orc swords and slice all of the throats. Just in case.

Remorse is for the dead.

I rush over to the woman, who thankfully is still breathing. My earlier observation was correct. Her breastplate was of the angular segmented kind – a real piece of art, and very functional. Her armor was also pure white, something I had never seen before.

The segmented armor moved up and down slowly, indicating she was still breathing. That was good because that meant she is not dead, even though sometimes breathing is a mere technicality.

I was still not one hundred percent, not by half, especially after the spells I just used to take out those orcs. But still, if this woman could be saved, I was going give it my best. The only problem is that I am not a healer. I could heal scrapes and bruises, but not a spear through the shoulder, or a large puncture from another spear that is currently lying on the ground next to her. It looked like she ripped it out herself.

It didn't matter that I didn't know the exact spell for the job. I would figure it out on the go. I would use a bunch of smaller spells, and combined, they would have the effect of the proper spell.

I cannot take her breastplate off, without taking out the spear. So that is what I do first. Pulling it out would be far too painful, and probably killed her on the spot.

I reach for her helmet, before I hear a sudden intake of breathe. I realize then that this woman is still conscious, and in a lot of pain.

"Miss, can you hear me?" I ask.

I hear a pained "Yes" in a surprisingly feminine voice.

"I need to take off your helmet, so I can take off your breastplate to heal the wound after I get the spear out. Can you help me?"

"Okay." she responds in a small voice.

"It's going to bleed more when the spear is gone. Don't panic."

I grab hold of the spear. This was going to get nasty, and the wound would never heal with the spear still there. It had to come out. Damned if I did, damned if I didn't.

Vanishing an object is no small feat. Vanishing a spear is not easy. My mage trainer, Archmage Contessa, could vanish a swarm of arrows in midair, and vanishing a single spear in flight would be no problem. But I'm not her, and even though this spear is not moving, it would not be easy.

It would be straightforward though. I picture in my mind's eye the spear lodged in the lady's shoulder. I then imagine it disappearing. I do this a few times, and when I open my eyes, the spear is gone.

I am out of breath, but I labor on.

"Ok miss, we have to get this armor off so I can heal you. I'm going to need your help. I'm not sure how your armor works… I've never seen anything like it before."

She doesn't reply, but I can tell she's heard as she reaches her hands up to her helm, and unbuckles a strap.

As she pulls of her helm, her mane of hair cascades down her face. It is a very light golden blonde. A color not native to anywhere I've ever been, so that meant only one place; Krul.

I spy her trying to work the buckles on her armor, but she has lost too much strength. I reach over and unbuckle all 6 of them, and gently lift off the damaged armor.

Unburdened by the weight of the armor, she raises her hand and brushes the hair out of her face. I notice that this is not a woman. This is just a girl. There was no way she was older than me, and I would bet she was a few years younger.

It isn't her chest that gets my attention, her pleasant hair, or her cute nose . No, it is her eyes. They are an extremely pretty green that I have never seen before.

But they also glisten with desperation, and pain.

I get to work quickly. Ignoring the fact that this girl is attractive, I lay my hands upon her shoulder wound. I hear her gasp in pain as I close my eyes and imagine the magic at work.

Ideally I would use some sort of catalyst or focus for a piece of magic that I am making it up on the spot. But honestly there is no time, and I am unsure what kinds of items would be appropriate. Surely some type of medicinal herb, but I couldn't tell a weed from a flower in this unknown land.

I just picture the wound closing in my mind. I imagine fire killing off infection. I imagine a warrior fending off dirt, dust, and other impurities in the wound. I imagine my mother weaving a basket out of reeds, and imagine the tissue, bone, muscle, and skin knitting itself back together.

I imagine the girl warrior surviving.

I reach into my very foundation for all the magic I can muster. I pour it all into her. I give it my all, for anything less than that would not be enough.

Time passes, I'm not sure how long my hands lay upon her shoulder, but I feel the skin beneath me grow warm, and it starts giving off a pleasant glow.

Finally, I lift off my hands and see success. The spear had gone completely through her, but where there was once air, there is now flesh, blood and bone. The skin was pink and raw, and I would lay odds that it would scar. I am not a healer after all.

I am actually proud of my work. I quite possibly saved this girl's life, but she was not out of trouble yet. She was out of immediate danger though; at least that's what my instinct says. Then again, I have no training whatsoever in any healing arts.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" I ask. I know her thigh is injured, but I did not want to seem like a pervert.

"Deep puncture in my thigh." She says in a pained voice, as if she just remembered it was there.

"Ok. I'll do my best. I'll need you to lie on your side, and, I, uh, need to put my hands right on the wound…"

She doesn't say anything. I'm not sure if it's out of embarrassment, or if her injury is taking its toll. Regardless, she does as I say, and is laying down on soft ground. Her leather padding is bloodied and tattered, and I have to take it off.

"Miss, this padding has to come off. I need access to the wound."

She gets the hint, and wastes no time in pulling her padding down, exposing her creamy white thigh. I ignore the strip of material that she would call underwear, and put my hands lightly on her wound.

Large bump emerges in my throat, and I take a large gulp. I've never had contact with a girl like this before, and a case of nerves was emerging. Still, this girl has put a lot trust into a complete stranger, so I get on with it.

The wound is quite large, but it did not hit bone. It looked like a raw piece of torn meat, and was quite disgusting. I close my eyes and focus my magic.

The magic doesn't come easily, and I realize how worn out I am. I feel a large bout of dizziness, and a headache emerging, but I fight it off with nothing but determination.

Once again I imagine fire destroying an infection, but when I try knitting the wound, my fatigue comes back full force. I struggle with shrugging it off. I feel sweat dripping off of my hands, and I hope it doesn't land in her wound. The salty sweat would sting like hell.

I do a pretty good job mending the wound considering the circumstances, but it wasn't perfect. It wasn't completely done either, and it would need some of its own time as well. It would probably scab over and scar, but at least the bleeding wasn't life threatening.

I lean back up against a tree, completely wiped out, and try to say something to the girl I just saved. Nothing comes out of my mouth, except a snore. Sleep captured me quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up, and notice something is on my shoulder.

It's the girl. She's passed out, and her head is leaning on my shoulder. I suppose it was the softest thing she could find. My Imperial Army standard issue mage tunic is made of thick cloth, and the shoulders are extra padded, so perhaps it's true.

It is a situation I have never encountered before though, but I suppose I can say that about the past several days. I carefully take my shoulder from under her head and gently shake her awake.

The sun is just rising, so that meant I slept through the night. I'm not sure how long she slept, but I bet she fell asleep minutes after I did. I'm not sure what day it is. I was barely up for an hour the previous day, and I am unsure how long I was unconscious before that.

I stand up, and stretch my extremely sore muscles. I turn around to notice the girl standing up as well. She's as tall as me, which is surprising, and unsurprising at the same time. She's also quite slim.

You see, if my hunch about her being from Krul is correct, then I would have expected her to be _larger_. The women up there average over 6 foot, or so I'm told. I've never been there myself. They are also usually fatter, and more muscular, due to the harsh cold. They need the meat on the bones to keep warm and insulated. Krul is not known for their attractive women, men usually brag about Pradgian women, or even the Nazgrimi, but never Krul.

But the proof lay before me. This girl was attractive, or maybe I'm just biased and lonely. She was also wearing no pants, having taken them off the previous day so I could heal her wound.

I quickly divert my eyes and ask. "How are you feeling?"

"Still sore. You saved me though, I can't thank you enough mister."

"Travos."

"What?"

"My name is Travos Oterian."

"Oh. Well, thank you Travos."

"No problem."

"Reyalinn Hvlaska."

"From Krul?"

"Yeah. How could you tell?"

"Your hair. It's very pretty and I've never seen that color before."

"Oh." I see her turn her face, embarrassed.

"We should probably see if something can be salvaged, unless you have a better idea? You could probably use a pair of pants."

We search the orcs, and they have nothing worth keeping except for their weapons. They don't even have any stolen coinage.

Reyalinn's fallen ally, though, is a different story. Apparently this one is female as well. I am unsure of an age, but probably in the late 30's or early 40's.

"I've never seen armor like this before. What unit of the army are you in?"

"I wasn't in the Imperial Army. I am an Angelknight."

"Really?" I ask. I've only heard stories of them. They are an elite fighting unit that serves directly under their king.

"Correct."

"So why is your armor pure white, and this one have blue stripes?"

"This is the armor of a captain. I am only a cadet." She answers.

"How long have you been in?" I ask. "You seem young."

"5 months. I joined when I turned 15." She pauses to unbuckle the armor. "This was my first real mission. I'm not sure where it went wrong. One minute it is peaceful, and the next, dozens of orcs are upon us."

"Why were you way out here in the desert anyway? This is many weeks away from Krul, and much hotter." As I say this I am taking the cloth shirt off from the fallen orc. We could use all the cloth, as long as we wash them.

"Tell me about it," she sighed. "We were escorting Prince Gerard to Jurai, as an ambassador. He was killed in the first 10 seconds of the ambush."

I don't ask her to continue. I don't want her to think of it. I also don't want her story to remind me of what I just went through myself. I also know that Prince Gerard was the heir to the throne of Krul, and that his death will be a big deal. Getting word to the Kingdom though, will not be easy. The Emperor has to learn of these assaults by the Groshkans.

But we are a very long way from any town.

"Are you sure these were Groshkans? Perhaps they were just dressed in red, but are actually a different faction altogether?" I start walking down to the river with several pieces of the orc's shirt that I turned into rags. I wash the blood off my hands, and then I rinse the shirt pieces as well.

"I don't know. It is possible I suppose, but the captain said there were Groshkans, and I trust her judgment." She replied as I walked back over to her. I hand her one of the now-clean rags.

"Thanks." Reyalinn replies, and she starts wiping the dried blood of her skin.

"Alright. So we have a prince dead, Groshkans a thousand miles from their homeland, and my legion missing in action. I would bet that the people who wiped out my unit are responsible for yours as well. Do you know where we are? Before I found you, I woke up on the east bank of this river."

"We are about a 3 days march to the border of Jurai. The captain didn't say much more than that, but I suspect there's a village near the border."

"Right. We'll, I guess we should head there? I've had enough of this desert."

"Alright. I'll follow you, I owe you that much."

Well, it looks like the girl would be coming with me. I can't say no. I have a feeling that I am going to need all the help I can get.

"Fair enough."

The girl's plate armor is destroyed, so she ends up taken her captain's armor and she finds some spare female clothes in the captain's satchel. Reyalinn lost her satchel in her escape.

We give the captain a proper burial, or at least as best as we could, given the circumstances. We find a nice little plot of earth on the river bank, and I use a vortex spell to twirl dirt out of the ground, into a concave hole.

Neither one of us say any words, for we don't know what to say. Reyalinn carves the name 'CAPTAIN VHALIONA DAYLEN' onto a rock to serve as a grave marker.

She takes the captain's large two-handed sword as her own. Apparently the girl is stronger than me, along with being 2 years younger. She can use the two-handed sword with practiced ease, and she wears the plate armor as if it was cloth. She even has a shield, and we both grab one of the orcish swords as well. It's clear she is a warrior, even if she doesn't look like it. She has all the mannerisms of one.

We start walking eastwards, albeit at a slow pace. I'm still sore, and she is still injured. We are both desperate to put this event behind us. Some might find it odd that the border to Jurai isn't along the natural boundary of the river, but the desert actually continues on the other side of the jungle. Well, that's what I remember seeing on the map I looked at during the mission briefing.

We only walk for about 5 minutes in awkward silence before she asks a question. "So, what are you? A healer?"

"No, I'm a mage." I answer. "A journeyman runic mage to be precise."

"How were you able to heal me then?" Reyalinn asks curiously.

"I used magic, and sheer force of will. I've never healed a wound like that before, I'm not trained for it. I went with my instincts."

"You did a good job" Reyalinn replies.

"Thanks."

We walk about a mile before she asks another question.

"How long have you been in the Imperial Army?"

"Three months." I reply. "I was on my first mission as well, before we were ambushed during the night."

"Did anyone else survive?"

I shake my head. "It's possible, I suppose, but I doubt it." It's too early to revisit those memories. They are still very raw. I hold hope that maybe Jerhyn is still alive, and only captured. If Groshkans take prisoners, it's only for one reasons, slaves, be it worker or sex slave.

We walked for several hours at a leisurely pace, trying not to overexert ourselves. We made small talk, mostly about our prior training before our missions, and avoiding all sensitive topics.

She's more athletic than me, even though I am probably the most fit mage of similar age. Still, you won't see me competing in the Imperial Games anytime soon

I suppose my teacher is to blame for my level of fitness. Archmage Contessa is old, but she is still very mobile. She taught me that sometimes running is the best solution. And if you are going to run away from a fight, you better be faster than the others. You are no good to anyone dead, except for maybe a necromancer.

I see Reyalinn starting to struggle with her heavy armor. "Hey, lets stop. I'm tired, you're tired, and we're both probably hungry."

She hesitates for a few seconds, as if trying to not show weakness. I am a stranger after all. "Alright."

During the walk, we did see some small game. I know fox is edible, and I have had it before.

"Have you any skill as a hunter or trapper? I don't"

She shakes her head negatively. "My father was a fisherman and a hunter. He would not allow his two girls to learn, as he thought it was undignified. He was a staunch believer that a man's role is to provide for the family, and he did. I did watch him enough when I was younger to pick up a few things about fishing, but nothing about hunting. Sorry."

"My father was a blacksmith, and we bought our meat from the village butcher. I guess we will just have to figure it out as we go. Perhaps we should set up the camp first though?"

"Good idea."

We dump off our gear to one side, and start to clear some of the brush in a 12 foot circle. That is in common units, mind you. Every kingdom has a different measuring system, but the foot is an imperial standard measurement.

"Let's get some rocks for a fire. I should be able to camouflage it with my magic."

We have a rock ring set up in about 15 minutes, with a smooth rock in the very middle. Reyalinn starts to collect some small tinder and kindling while I scratch out a fire rune on the smooth rock. Once triggered, it should last for about a minute, plenty of time to light fine woods. I could make it last for longer, but it would take a larger amount of magic to power- magic that I would rather not use if I can help it. Luckily, we are in a somewhat dry jungle. Plenty of wood to go around.

Reyalinn sets up a little wooden conical structure on top of my rune, and there is a small stack of thin sticks to the one side.

She steps back and looks at me expectantly. I guess she's never seen a mage in action before.

"Alright, watch this."

*SNAP*

I snap my fingers together and the rune emits a small flame. It's a very low-key rune, so such a trigger mechanism was not beyond my skill.

I can tell Reyalinn is impressed, but she doesn't make a big deal out of it. Magic's a part of me, it's what I do. She walks closer to the fire and starts adding large wood to it. From the way she is bending over, I can tell her thigh is still sore.

"Hey, I'll go get us a meal. How about you stay here and tend the fire?" I offer.

Reyalinn looks me in the eyes, while biting down on her lip. She hesitates for a few seconds before replying "Ok"

She's a strong girl, I can tell, but everyone has their limits.

"If something happens, just yell really loud and I will come back as quickly as I can."

A small smile creeps onto Reyalinn's face, the first I have seen, but she quickly turns away to put more wood onto the fire. I look back once or twice as I walk away.

Once I am out the noise range of the fire, around 250 feet, I start walking real slow, trying to make as little noise as possible. I avoid fallen branches and leaves, and stick to walking on the dirt, grass, and stone. I've never had any hunting training before, but this seemed like common sense.

I stand still for about 30 seconds before I hear some rustling. I peer through the trees, trying to spot what it is. I can't see anything, but the sound is getting closer.

After 20 seconds it is nearly on top of me, and then I finally spot it. It's 'only' a snake. And by 'only', I mean a 6 foot long, red, black, and yellow striped snake. Something about it make me think its venomous, perhaps it's the way it ignores me and just slithers right on by me and leaves the area in leisure, or maybe it is the vibrant colors of its skin.

Putting the snake out of my mind, after making sure it's not sneaking up on me, I open up my ears again. There is a lot of ambient sound, and it is still light enough out even with only one sun shining down upon us. I hear many insects, and after a minute I start to hear the sound of other animals.

I hear the chirping and cawing of birds, and the squeaking and sniffling of the small game. There's too much sound to pinpoint which direction the closest animal is in, that is until I hear a small scuffle coming from my right.

In between an upright split trunk tree, and an uprooted fallen tree is a jungle fox. It hasn't seen me yet, so I slowly inch my way closer to where it is.

When I am satisfied that I am close enough to hit it without missing, I pick up a medium sized rock from the ground. Now, one would think that as a mage I would simply fry the fox with lightning, but that would probably turn it into ash.

No, instead, I intend to use magic to propel the rock at the fox, more accurately and forceful than I could throw it by arm.

All because I am a runic mage, does not mean I rely solely on runic magic. I only took up runes when I was 15; I had 5 years of standard learning before that.

Luckily for me, propelling in object is fairly easy, especially with something of low weight. I crouch low to give myself a more stable base to aim with. I hold the stone in my outstretched palm, and aim it so the rock blocks out sight of the fox with my right eye.

With no muttered sound, I forcefully use my magic and rocket the rock towards the fox. My aim is true, and from 20 feet away I knock the rock squarely into the fox's head. It drops to the ground.

I quickly run over to the trees to collect my prize. I'm not sure if it's alive or dead, but just to be sure, I snap its neck. It was the most human way to kill it I suppose. No blood was shed.

I don't run back to camp, as I don't want to accidently trip and injure myself, but I do walk at a brisk pace. I carry by its leg, and I realize that it really is an ugly creature. The prairie foxes back in Drecilia are much friendlier looking compared to this beast.

I see Reyalinn sitting on the ground, poking at the fire with a stick, but also facing my direction. I wave at her as I get closer and she stands up when I raise my catch in the air. She girls a small cheer when she gets a closer look at it.

"Wow, you actually caught something!" she exclaims

"I hit it in the head with a rock. It's a jungle fox; hopefully it doesn't taste as bad as it looks."

I carry it over to the fire. I look through the small pile of sticks that Reyalinn has collected, and find a somewhat straight stick.

I take my blade, and carefully whittle the bark off the branch, and hone the end into a point. The next part was not for the faint of heart and involved poking the stick through the entirety of the fox, being careful to not knick the bowels.

I then rigged up the fox-on-a-stick over the fire using a clever positioning of the rocks.

"Do you how long to cook something like this?" I ask Reyalinn. She shakes her head no. "Well, I guess if we smell burning, it's overcooked."

I sat down about 5 feet away from Reyalinn, on a rock. She idly played with a lock of hair that seemed to constantly fall out from where she tucked it behind her ear. I didn't notice how long her hair was until now, but it goes about halfway down her back. That's a stark contrast to my short black hair.

Then again, nearly everyone in the army has short hair, at least in the south. Sand and long hair do not mix well. It has seen better days though, chances to wash it rarely comes along, but magic does help. Magic makes everything better.

I thought it was a stroke of luck that jungle fox have more skin than actual fur, as burning hair smells very bad, but it turns out I was wrong.

In the end, nothing seemed to go right. The meat was very burnt, and if we weren't so hungry, I would say it was inedible.

"Well, look at the bright side. It can't get any worse. It's hard to cook something to be more burnt."

Even with how burnt it was, we ate most of the animal. It was a vastly unsatisfying, but physically fulfilling, meal, and I wouldn't wish it upon my enemies, and I wouldn't brag about it to my friends.

After we ate most of the edible parts off the fox, we decided to set up a shelter. We took a fallen tree a wedged it into the forked trunk of another. Then, using our swords, we chopped off leafy branches of healthy trees to serve as the roof.

It took no more than 15 minutes to finish the lean-to, as the whole idea of a lean-to is that it is very easy to create.

Now that we would be protected from the elements while we slept, the next order of business was to make sure we would be protected from predators while slept as well.

The first step was to bury the left over fox carcass. No need to advertise a free meal. The next step was to create the wards.

I've always preferred circles, but a dome projection ward is just as valid in most circumstances. I like the circle because you can physically see where it ends, while with the projection, you simply have to guess. You can set it up for a 15 foot diameter, for example, but without knowing exactly how much magic it takes, it could be anywhere from 14 to 16 feet in actuality, The plus side is that while you can see the physical boundary, an enemy can't either. You could make an area completely invisible.

It's a downside that I can accept. The trick is to draw a repelling ward circle first, so it is on the very outside and prevent any of the inner circles from being trodden on.

So that is exactly what I do. I use a branch, and carve a circle in the dirt about a half inch deep all the way around our makeshift camp. It is not a perfect circle, far from it. I had to weave around trees and rocks, but it is merely a boundary line, and as long as there are no real sharp corners it will work just fine.

Reyalinn watches me work with interest, having never seen a mage do what mages do before. I can't blame her, as magic users are a very small part of the population, probably less than every 1 in 1000 has the gift of magic.

I send my magic flowing through the ward circle, and I feel it respond. The magic in this ward will now repel animals smaller than me away from the site. Animals won't realize it is a ward, so they will just get on with their day as if nothing was out of the ordinary. It should keep out all of the major predators in this area, such as jungle wolves. I am unsure if there are any predatory cats, but I don't think this particular environment is large enough for them.

The one thing we have to worry about is the predators that are larger than me, namely other humans. And orcs.

It is impossible to know if we are being hunted, by friend or foe, but it is best to not take chances. Especially since I am virtually unskilled in scrying. Divination is one of the branches of magic where you have to be truly dedicated to that school of magic to get results. It is hard to just dabble in the art and get anything meaningful out of it, although it not unheard of.

I actually decide to forgo the next set of circle wards, and instead use runic projecting wards. I draw a question mark shaped rune for smell, and a circle within an ellipse for sight. The runes look like a nose and eye respectively. Its all about symbols and meanings. I add in a rune to muffle sound as well for good measure. There is an actual standard runic language, but it feels too old fashioned to me and I don't like it.

With the runes in place, the smell of the campsite is masked, and when people look in our direction, their eyes will just move right over our camp as if it wasn't there.

The campsite is small enough so the magic drain will be barely noticeable. The wards are also intangible, and passive, and are the easiest to maintain.

We don't put any more wood on the fire as we go to sleep. I take off my imperial mage armor, leaving myself in a plain shirt and cloth pants. I take the far right side of the lean-to, and she takes the far left, leaving a good 5 feet of space in between us, and our legs stretching outside.

My last thought before I fall asleep is that Reyalinn has long legs.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up groggily. I woke up several times through the night due to noises. It slipped my mind that my ward only muffled _our_ noise, and not the noise coming in from the outside, and the wildlife was noisy.

I look over to where Reyalinn was sleeping, but she's not there. I spot her sitting on the rock I sat on yesterday, combing her long hair with an ivory comb. She was already back in her leather armor padding, as opposed to the shirt and pants she slept in.

She really was pretty.

I crawl out from the lean-to and say "Morning Reya."

Her eyes meet mine briefly as she returns "Good morning."

We waste no time in deconstructing our camp. The ashes from the fire get buried, the rock ring scattered, and the lean-to indistinguishable from a fallen tree with random brush lying around.

Our destination is eastwards, once more. The jungle only follows the river, and there will be more desert coming up, but maybe only a day's march. I'm not sure, I've only seen the map of the place once, and that was months ago.

The jungle in uneventful for the first 2 hours, until Reyalinn makes a discovery.

"Is that a Hevalass plant?" She exclaims, pointing at a red colored plant near a small pool of water. It's the 4th or 5th pool of water we have come across, but the first time I've seen a plant like that.

"A what?" I ask. I've never heard of it.

"Watch."

I watch her go over to the plant, and pick a leaf. Reyalinn then takes the leaf and starts rubbing it on her teeth. She does this for about a minute before she tossed the leaf aside. She then gives me a smile.

"Your teeth are clean." I state.

"And my breath is refreshing as well."

"Impressive for a simple plant."

"It is a common plant up in Krul during the summer. It likes to grow along the lakes. Loads of it grow near my house, and I would pick it nearly every day as a child."

"Let me try it." I ask. She plucks off another sprig and hands it to me. I carefully wrap it around my pointer finger, and rub it on my teeth. I feel the plant scrubbing away at my poorly cared for teeth. It's not that I have bad hygiene, it's just that the past few days have been hectic, and magic can only do so much. Using magic to take care of the finer details of life is not always easy. Magic is raw, powerful, and primal. To wield it like a scalpel is something beyond my skill level, with a few exceptions. I am a only a journeyman mage after all, maybe if I was a wizard or a sorcerer I may have fine control like that, but I am still young.

My breath now smells halfway decent, and I can tell my teeth no longer look like crap. Hell, I now feel better as well. I guess it a morale thing. I would almost think the plant was magic, but I sense nothing out of the ordinary with it.

"This is excellent. Perhaps we should take more of it with us?"

"Good idea."

Reyalinn picked several more of the herbs, and tucked them into her pouch, or rather, her late Captain Vhaliona's pouch. I then saw her focus shift onto something in the water, followed shortly by her exclaiming. "Fish!"

I stride over to the edge and look at where she was pointing. Sure enough, there was a single fish huddling near a fallen branch in the small pond.

"Can you magic it out?" Reyalinn asks me with a edge of excitement in her voice.

"Maybe. Intricate magic like this is not my normal thing, but it's doable."

Reyalinn didn't say anything further, but instead watched me silently as I focused on the task. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing, and then opened my eyes and spotted the fish. It was minding its own business, chilling in the shadow of the branch. It was about to have its day ruined though.

I was focusing on summoning the fish. The magic was different than say, summoning a demon or something like that, as my target is on the same plane of existence as me. Also, it would be a straight line of sight spell. I pointed my hand at the fish, as if I was going to catch it with my hand.

I felt the magic well up within my fingers. I made a quick tugging motion, and the fish flew out of the water, and straight over my head.

"Too much power." I state blandly.

"I'll say." Reyalinn responded with a small chuckle, before going over to the fish and snuffing out its life. We decided to walk on for a little bit more before stopping to eat the fish.

"…So tell me again what the difference is between a wizard, a sorcerer, and a mage? I always thought they were the same thing." Reyalinn asks me as we chomp down on our fish. It's about 3 hours after we caught it, and did more walking. We took a break from the suns directly overhead and took lunch underneath a large shady tree.

"Experience, and profession. Everyone starts off as a mage. As the name implies, a mage is a wielder of magic. A wizard is a learned mage. A master of arcane lore, they would rather spend time wandering the land for lost knowledge than using their vast arsenal of spells in battle. A wizard is usually the best at the intricate magics and related practices such as alchemy, conjuring, enchanting and the like. A wizard gains his knowledge through years of dedication, which is why you will never see a young wizard. A sorcerer is a rank in the imperial army, but it is also someone who is a mix of a mage and a wizard, one who uses his immense knowledge in practical situations. That is not to say a wizard never uses his knowledge, quite the opposite as well… sorry, am I boring you?"

"Not at all." She replies, a little too quickly. "Enchanting, isn't that what you do? You said you knew magical runes, so what makes you different than a wizard?"

"Well, there are an unlimited amount of runes. Runes are simply how I express my magic. There is also a whole runic alphabet that does see use in enchanting. But do keep in mind, there are a few different ways to imbue an item with magic."

"Does that alphabet have a name?"

"Lenarian."

"The first language?" Reyalinn asks. Apparently she is smarter than I thought.

"One and the same. Some lore masters insist that it comes from an even older language."

"Elves?"

I nod my head. "No one has seen an elf in thousands of years, not since the time of Mellontelian."

"Friend of the last Elf." She replies.

"That is the commonly accepted translation of his name. You're smart for a northerner you know."

Reyalinn gives a small laugh out of embarrassment. "I spent many years at the Bastion, not out of choice, but it was the only option at the time…"

"The Bastion of Light?" I ask. I know who they are, everyone does as they are located in pretty much ever village and city in Gandria and even other kingdoms as well. They are devotees of the Creator. Zealots, crusaders, soldiers of some entity that no one can prove exists.

"Yes. Barbarians were raiding my village. They killed my father, and my mother, well…" she broke off. I know what barbarians do to women.

"I understand."

"They were coming for me next. I could hear my mother and older sister yelling and scream as the men brutalized them, but then Bastion arrived. They routed the barbarians, but not before the damage was done. My mother and sister, both raped until they were killed, and my father slaughtered. I had nowhere else to go, but to seek refuge with my saviors."

"So how did you end up as an Angelknight?"

"Despite the name, an Angelknight is not part of the Bastion. I spent several years in the Bastion, learning, and in return, training to become one of their crusaders. I didn't fit in well with the Bastion. I didn't want to fight for a cause I didn't believe fully in. I didn't want the Creator to become my life. I fought for something else. I fought for revenge, for vengeance. This is not what the Bastion fights for, they fight for justice in the name of their Lord. I simply had too much hate in me that could not be changed by repenting or prayer. They offered me to the Angelknights."

I sit there silently for a minute. She had a trouble past, but seemed to make the best of it. I knew that one of the differences between the Angelknights and the Bastion of Light is their lore. The Bastion is a foreign religion, while the Angelknights are a part of Krullian history. I decide to change the subject as my past is nowhere near as troubled. "One thing has been bothering me. This is quite far from Krul, surely you didn't walk the whole way?"

"Boat."

"Boat?" I ask in response.

She nods her head. "Boat. Every year Prince Gerard makes this trip, down the river, into the ocean, and to Port Shae. On the way back, we go through the Straights of Jurai northwards, and westward through the Iron Sea. Much quicker than walking, I daresay, especially wearing 50 pounds of plate mail."

"So what happened to the boat?"

She ponders for a few seconds. " I'm not exactly sure. The orcs knew we were coming, they must have. They had a trap ready, some sort of device they had in the water snagged the ship, and they ambushed the boat with ballistae. We were quickly overwhelmed, and the boat beached on the river bank, and off we ran. If it wasn't for you, the orcs would have done to me what the barbarians failed to do 7 years ago…"

I'm speechless again. A _boat._ Really? Orc ambush… I shake my head mentally. There are too many things that are not making sense. Groshkan orcs and humans this far away is not a good sign at all. I do the first thing that I think of, and carefully grab her hand.

"It's going to be okay." I say in a low voice. "Everything will work out for the best."

I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince, her, or me, but she seemed to brighten up a little, or at least mellow out from her sullenness.

I rub my thumb on the back of her hand in small soothing circles for a few more minutes as we finish our meager meal. The fish itself was alright, as we managed to not turn it into charcoal like the fox from the previous night.

"We should get going. It can be too much farther."

It wasn't. And by it, I mean the last strip of desert separating us from Jurai. The desert was actually only about a mile more from where we had our fish lunch.

With resolute determination, I took the first step into the sand. And then the second. And Reyalinn followed right next to me, helm under one arm and her hair blowing in the light wind.

I really hate the sand. It gets everywhere, and no spell really helps. The key thing with being a mage is that magic is not the most powerful force on the planet… nature is. Nature builds mountains and destroys civilizations with a whim. I can cast some lightning and create fire, which doesn't really seem all that impressive in contrast.

We walk for an hour or so, and stop on top of a large sand dune. You can sort of see where the sand ends in the distance, and where light forest starts. It's a long way away, but within visual distance and that is encouraging.

The thing with walking in the desert, is that there is simply not much to say about it, sand, sky, and usually very hot. We are actually not all that far south compared to Drecilia, but something with the current in the Gandrian Ocean causes the east to become a lot hotter than the west.

But there is a comforting thought. It gets even hotter the farther south you go. Legends say that the ocean itself boils and there is an impenetrable barrier of steam that will kill anyone who crosses, if the extreme heat didn't do it already. There is a reason no one lives on the southern continent of Fiorsia, and it's simply that it is too damn hot for anything remotely human to live for any length of time.

So I took to this desert with grace, and with knowledge that it could get a whole lot worse. At least I wasn't wearing the heavy plate that Reyalinn was wearing, even if just her torso was covered by full plate, and the rest was half plate. Still, even with halfplate, her armor was probably twice as heavy (but twice as protective) as the Imperial army's standard chain mail.

I like my cloth tunic very much, thank you.

Three hours later and I'm thankful that I had a fully armored Krullian warrior with me.

It started as a low howling sound and what felt like earth tremors. Then the dust started kicking up, and eventually the sand parted ways as if being drained from a bucket.

I knew what it was before I even saw the dust. We had encountered 2 of them already on the trip, and when I saw we, I mean me and the 50 other soldiers that made up the platoon.

It is called a sandscythe, and they are vicious killing machines. Probably 100 feet long, fully exposed, but it keeps the majority of itself underground. It is like a giant worm, or maybe a snake, except it has two arm-like appendages that are comparable to a scythe blade and a mouth full of what can only be described as swords.

Sandscythe live under the sand, and they burrow through it fairly easily. They are predators, but they are killable. Like I said, my platoon had killed 2 of them already, without any casualties.

I gave Reyalinn the lowdown, and she quickly put on her helm, and pulled out her one-handed sword and shield. There's no outrunning it, so we fight or we die.

Her shield is large, large enough to cover three-quarters of her body when she hunkers down. She deftly moves in between me and the beast. It's probably 8 feet wide, and could more than likely swallow a man whole, and it clearly had us on its list for next meal.

I knew it could be killed, I knew how it could be killed, I just didn't know if I had the magic prowess to do it. I needed time to cast a spell lethal enough to do it.

The sandscythe dived back under the sand. It was not hard to predict its movement as it displaced a lot of sand and dust up into the air. It looked like it was going to go under us, but it emerged 5 feet in front of Reyalinn. She wasted no time before slicing at its leathery hide. One would think that constantly burrowing through sand would have toughened its hide to be super strong, but it wasn't. While it was very smooth from what I can tell, I watched Reyalinn's sword stab into it with little effort, and I knew her commandeered orcish sword was not that sharp.

But it would take a lot of stabbing from her small sword to take it down, if it was possible at all. That's where I came in.

My first spell was a long drawn out fulminating fireball. I worked up the magic while Reyalinn was parrying and dodging the beast's two claws.

I saw my opportunity about 15 seconds later when the Angelknight ducked off to the right as a scythe bounced off her sturdy shield.

My magic coalesced a few inches above my outstretched hands. It glowed fiery red and looked like an obese noble dressed in a corset with its seams about to burst. I forced a little more magic into it, while forcing it to keep the same size. Then, with a quick motion of my hand, I lobbed the condensed fireball at the worm.

The fireball made a lazy arc through the air, travelling slower than you would have expected. The fireball's intense pressure cause the sand to ripple beneath it as it traveled. Reyalinn covered her face with her shield just in time as the fiery mass detonated on the sandscythe's hide.

The beast gave off an anguished roar, and immedietly burrowed under the sand. It was probably more ticked off than hurt, but any damage done was better than no damage done. Usually.

We both pivoted on our feet, watching the rumbling sand that was indicative of where the beast was burrowing. At first it looked like it was retreating, but I realized quickly that it merely needed some room to turn around. And turn around it did.

It emerged once again, looking slightly burnt, but still fully functional. It clashed its scythe arms together a few times before continuing its onslaught. Reyalinn wasted no time in parrying and blocking the blows. Since she was much smaller and quicker which gave her time in between blows to prick the beast with her sword.

I began casting my next spell right away. It was tough in the desert heat, but still doable. A cloud of ice slowly formed in front of me, fighting against both my will and the melting temperatures. I said it before, but the forces of nature are still the strongest forces on the planet.

Still, magic has its own unique ways of bypassing nature as it sees fit, and it is with that thought that I seal my ice storm spell and sent it at the sandscythe .

The spell travels much faster than my fireball. The piercing ice flew like arrow's, easily penetrating the sandscythe's hide.

It had an effect the beast, but not nearly enough. The ice probably melted quickly, doing less damage than I hoped. It also seemed that I underestimated its hide. While it may not be hard as scale, it was very thick. I'm not sure I even penetrated all of the way though.

The spell did give Reyalinn an attack of opportunity though. While the sandscythe was briefly bracing against my spell, Reyalinn met it with a quick downward strike, lopping off its right scythe.

The great worm shrieked in agony, spraying its brownish blood all over the desert. However, it was also extremely angry now. It thrashed around, trying to hit Reyalinn with its remaining blade.

It was much quicker than it was before. At least twice as fast. Reyalinn was quickly on the defensive, and her shield pinged with the sound of multiple blocks in a handful of seconds. She had no time for any of her own attacks now, and the only option was to get away from the enraged beast.

As Reyalinn slowly scuttled back away from the sandscythe, I was already in motion with my next spell. I wasn't sure what it was going to be, until I saw the Reyalinn chop off that limb.

I redirected the lingering magic into another spell. I made a long sweeping motion with my hands, and the fallen limb-blade rose up into the air, kicking up a small swirl of dist.

With another motion, I flicked the scythe through the air, sending it straight at the sand beast. It hit true, and the blade had enough slicing power to penetrate straight through and emerge out its back.

I wasn't expecting that, but I quickly react, using my magic to bring it in for another pass. The sandscythe was thrashing about quite a bit now, but it was no matter as it got pieced by its own limb once more. Blood was flowing freely from both the hole in its body, and from where it finally got lodged in its hide on the second pass.

Reyalinn was still moving backwards as the blade made its second pass, but she got knocked by the sandscythe's remaining arm just as its other arm hit itself. It was at the moment where I had another epiphany, and perhaps a way to finish the creature off once and for all.

I probably imagined it in the dry desert air, but I saw Reyalinn's sheathed two-handed sword glitter as she was tossed back. I wasted no time in using my magic to unsheathe the large sword, and propel that through the air as well. It happened so quick, that the sword hit the worm before Reyalinn even knew it was missing.

The beast was now leaning over Reyalinn, casting a partial shadow over her. I had no time to spare.

The dry dessert played to my magic, called out to it. The sword buried itself once more into the beast, and got lodged on the hilt. 4 feet or more of the sharpened metal was inside the thing, and I began to immedietly work my magic.

I felt the magic calling me, and I reacted. There were no clouds to be seen, but the lightning crackled around me, almost as if it was forming a shield.

It needed direction, so I gave it one. I spread out my fingers, and the lightning flashed from my hand, arced the distance between me and the beast in the blink of an eye, and connected with the metal sword embedded in it hide.

The beast gave a roaring yell. It stood straight up in the air, smoke starting to rise from its mouth, but it was still very much alive. I planned to change that.

Another lightning bolt arced out from my hand, as the sand kicked up all around me from the powerful spell. Again, I scored another hit on the sword, sending the vicarious lightning down the beast's insides. It roared, and I witness tremors rack up its body as if it was having as seizure, and we I knew right away that this was its death scream. I could smell its cooked innards from my vantage point, and could see the smoke bellow out of its mouth.

It gave one last lurch, pulling itself all the way out of the sand, all 100 feet of its body, before crashing down upon the sand. When the carcass hit, it kicked up a dust cloud that could have been mistaken for a small sandstorm.

When it finally cleared, I saw Reyalinn on her feet, with hands on knees, coughing the sand out of her lungs. I walked over to her, dusting the sand off my clothes in the process. If I had long hair, I'm sure it would be standing on end.

I walked up to the sword still embedded in the beast, and tried pulling it out, but it was too far embedded. But then, another hand clasped where mine was, and together with Reyalinn, we both tugged, and the sword came free.

She took it from my hands, wiped off the blood after inspecting it, and re-sheathed it. I got a good look at Reyalinn's condition. She seemed uninjured, which was good considering the circumstances, but her hair was a mess. The lighting must have been close enough to make her hair stand on end, and it was frizzled all over the place. Worse than that though, was how bogged down in sand she was. Sand and plate armor do not mix, and she must have the entire desert making itself home in the grooves of the metal.

It would take a skilled craftsman to clean it properly, and I didn't envy all the sand she had in her hair either. Near-elbow length hair and the desert do not mix. Her shield had also taken its toll. Dings and dent covered the entirety of its surface, but at least it served its purpose well.

I wasn't sure what to say, so I might have said the lamest line in history. "Well, we're alive."

"Yeah. I've never seen a creature like that before. If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead."

"Don't sell yourself short. You were the one keeping him occupied, with your own life on the line. It wasn't for you, I'd be dead as well."

"Teamwork ruled the day then, I guess." Reyalinn shrugged. She looked exhausted.

"Want to set up camp for the night?"

"Sounds good to me." She replies. I was exhausted too. Neither of us had a proper meal in days, and it, along with the unfriendly environment, was affecting us. She looked at the carcass of the beast before sniffing the air and grimacing. "Perhaps we should move a little farther away, preferably upwind."

* * *

_Author's Notes_

_Chapter 6 will be posted one I finish it. Actually, its already done, I'm just tweaking the action scene. As usually, feel free to review. comments/suggestions are welcome, and if you do notice a typo or major grammatical error, please tell me where._


	6. Chapter 6

Before us lay a small village, spread amongst the sand. We made it just by midday of the next day. The desert had slowly transitioned into a dry-season savannah.

It was a farming village, that much was clear. I had only read about the villages built like this one, and it was fascinating to see firsthand. Southern Nazgrimah needs food just like every other kingdom. Desert plains are not a great place to live, but people do it. It doesn't rain much, but they do get by. They get by because they are masters of irrigation.

The produce was grown upon patches of flat dirt, surrounded by clean cut channels of stone filled with water. The plants were growing quite well, too. I could identify quite a bit of corn, but I spotted others as well.

It was quite a sight. There must have been dozens upon dozens of rows in which water seeped in through the clever channels. I couldn't see where the water came from, but I suspect it was probably from the river we just came from.

I spotted several farmhands working the crop as we approached the village. The village was not large by any means. There was probably only 1 tavern and inn, and no blacksmiths since most of the farms are self-sufficient and make their own tools.

We made it into the town, and I noticed that every single building was made out of the same material as the irrigation channels. I'm not sure what it was, but I had a hunch that it is concrete. Concrete was a relatively alien material to me. Drecilia was primarily wood with some stone. Gandria was primarily stone, with some wood.

Regardless, we make our way to the village square. In the middle of the square stood a large statue. Reyalinn and I walk over to it and she read the plaque.

"Mellontelian."

"He is quite possibly the most famous wizard to ever live." I respond. The statue was carved in the wizard's exact likeness. A large pointed hat adorned the man's head, and he held a long staff in his gnarled hands. A large beard hung to his waist as well, in contrast to his hooked nose.

"He lived a really long time ago, didn't he?"

"Thousands of years ago. You can find statues and memorials of him from here all the way through Groshka and beyond."

We walk away from the statue and head towards the inn. A few locals stare at us, but don't say anything. The inn has a sign hanging outside with a tankard and bed carved into it. There were no words, but the symbolism was more than enough. I can relate to that.

Inside is fairly cozy. A dozen stools surround the bar, and a half dozen more tables make up the interior. All the furniture is made out of a worn wood, and an elderly lady with reddish brown and grey hair is lounging behind the bar, knitting. Apart from a two men in the corner drinking down ales, there was no one else.

Upon seeing us, The lady stands up from her chair. "Oh, my poor dears, what happened to you?"

"We were ambushed out in the desert."

"By bandits?" she asks, worry evident in her voice.

I shake my head. "No, by Groshkans."

"Groshkans, out here? Oh my!" She raises a hand to her mouth.

"My entire legion was wiped out, and we need to get back to Gandria. How far away are we from a boat?"

"You could make it to Port Holswyth in half a day. But tell me, is this town in any danger? How far away did this happen?"

"Southern Nazgrimah Desert."

"Wow, and you walked all the way here, like this?"

"And killed a sandscythe only yesterday."

"Sounds like quite an adventure. Ok, here's what we will do. My husband should be coming back from the fields in an hour. He will take you to the Port by carriage. But in the mean time, you two look like you could use a home cooked meal, so that is exactly why you will do."

"We haven't any coin to pay."

She brushed off the comment. "Nonsense! An old lady like me just wants to hear your story. We don't get many outsiders through here."

So that is exactly what happened. The lady sat us down, started cooking food, and listened to our story. The food was really good as well. Hot chicken, corn, and green beans, with a nice cold drink. The best meal I had in months. Reyalinn was drooling at the sight of the meal before it was even on the table, it was actually quite funny.

Her husband shows up like she said he would. He's a portly man, probably around 50 years old. He has a rough face, rough hands, but kind eyes, the trademark of a man who has worked all of his life, and but reaping the benefits of a happy marriage.

He trades a kiss with his wife and a few brief words, before motioning for us to follow him.

Behind the tavern is a stable of 8 horses and a carriage. We help him hook up half the horses to the carriage. He is a man of few words, but he seems genuinely happy to help, and the gentle smile never leaves his face.

Before we know it, we are on the carriage, with the man at the reigns. His wife comes over, holding a basket, and gives it to her husband. Presumably it's his dinner that we are keeping him from enjoying properly.

The lady waves us off, saying "Safe journey!"

I'm quite surprised out how fast past the last few hours were. From fighting a sandscythe, to arriving in Jurai, getting a hot meal for free, and then on our way to Port Holswyth thanks to a helpful elderly couple.

I settle myself on the backrest of the carriage, and Reyalinn sits on my right. The carriage is a simple affair, made of wood, with iron-ringed wooden spoke wheels, and four passenger seats plus the driver's.

The trail the kind man takes us on is fairly smooth, but doesn't offer much in the way of scenery. Meager shrubbery and dunes can be seen in every direction. There's a pleasantly warm breeze as well, and I find myself slowly drifting off to sleep with the rhythmic moving of the carriage.

* * *

I slowly wake up from my sleep. I'm not sure why, as it is still dark out, and the carriage is still moving. Reyalinn is asleep as well, resting her head on my shoulder. I guess it really is a good pillow.

But then I hear it. The soft rustling of mounted riders. I can tell it's at least 2, but any more than that is a guess. I try to peer in the darkness, but I can't make out anything yet.

I whisper to the kind driver. "How long have they been following us for?"

"Nearly an hour." He replies in a soft whisper.

"They may try to surround us. Is there anywhere that narrows down?"

"I know a spot."

"Good. Take us there, I'll handle the rest."

I slowly shake Reyalinn awake. I make sure to hold a finger up to my mouth, indicating her to be quite. "We have company," I whisper.

She just nods, and turns around, but also failing to see anything in the darkness.

And as I was expecting, the carriage gained a sudden burst of speed as we sped off for the choke point. The bandits reacted immediately, no longer opting for stealth.

We both jumped off our seats on the carriage. Reyalinn brought her beat up shield up for protection, covering both me and the driver.

I saw the first cloaked man come into my limited view, riding a white stallion. I recognized no familiar identifiers, so I figured he was probably a bandit.

After the first rider came into my limited view, 5 more joined with him. They were all dressed in similar garb, browns and grays to blend in with any environment. Three of the riders had swords drawn, and the other three had bows.

As if on cue, the twang of a bow rang out and an arrow embedded itself in the carriage. Two more took flight, but deflected harmlessly off Reyalinn's metal shield.

Magic arced across my finger tips and I summoned the forces of lightning. I drew a shape in the air with my finger to act as a trigger, and the bolt of nature's power smashed into the first bandit, knocking him off his horse. I'm not sure if it killed him, but he wouldn't be pursuing us again anytime soon.

More arrows shot at the carriage, and the driver and I both hunkered down behind Reyalinn's shield. I peeked out from the side, and saw that all 3 of the archers were fitting another arrow into their bows. I took this brief respite to work by next piece of magic.

My magic flowed into the ground, changing the hard packed dirt and sand into liquid quicksand. One rider managed to dodge it, but the one following in his shadow was not so lucky, and his horse plunged into the sandy mixture. Only 4 left now.

Only two archers were left, but we still had to dodge their potentially fatal arrows. I peeked out from behind the shield once more, and was almost tossed off the carriage when the driver pulled to the right to avoid a large rock in the road.

I regained by balance and immedietly send a burst of fire at the closest archer. The flame didn't knock him off his horse, but it did set his bow on fire, ruining it. He tossed it off his horse, and withdrew his sword and sent his horse into a gallop.

With three sword wielding bandits slowly catching up on the carriage, and one more archer, I had a decision to make. I had to prioritize, and I quickly decided the last archer had to go as well. Reyalinn could fend off the melee if necessary, better than I could actually.

I decided to use the old standby, the ice shard storms that I have used a few times previous. I was getting quite good at it now. The shards formed in front of me, and I created the field large enough so accuracy would not be as important as stopping power.

With a gesture of my hands, the piercing ice shot at the archer. Combined with the archer's forward momentum, and the ices backwards momentum, the shards easily passed straight through the main, killing him quickly. It was not a clean kill either, and I grimaced at the amount of carnage I caused.

Now that the archers were out of the way, I looked over my shoulder and saw the narrow that were nearing. It a steep walled sandstone structure, and in 15 seconds we were riding through its shadowy canyon.

They pursuers entered the canyon in the heat of the moment, and were several hundred feet in before they realized the scope of their mistake. They slowed their horses down to a gentle clip.

I had another decision to make. To finish the fight, to make is so they will never do their banditry ever again, or to let them go.

As the carriage continued to go down, I made my choice. I am not a killer. To kill them now after the fight is over would make me no better than them. These men only represent a small fraction of the bandit population, and killing them would not solve the problem. You need an army to ward off a bandit population, and that is not me.

I am a survivor, doing what I know best. Those bandits are survivors as well, trying to get enough to live day by day, but somewhere they made a wrong choice in their lives. I don't want to go that path. I want to stay on the side of justice, the side of right. I stay true to my morals.

Sure, those bandits may just continue to pillage, but I can soothe my subconscious knowing that I gave them the opportunity to change by sparing their life. They would not get a second chance though.

The carriage continued down the path and now going back was not even an option. If I wanted to turn into a murderer, the opportunity has passed me by. I released the breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

"That was too much excitement for an old farmer like me," the driver replies.

"We survived." I state. The driver's brings us back onto the path leading to the port. Neither Reyalinn nor I attempt to fall back asleep after that attack.

* * *

We just arrived in Port Holswyth, and in one piece. After the bandit attack, the rest of the trip went smoothly, despite all of us looking over our shoulders every 5 seconds. The man dropped us off, said goodbye, and headed back right away. He went off in a different direction, so I guess he was smart enough to not go the way we just came from. I guess the roughness of the last few days has made me forgot that there are still nice people in the world.

The port city is one of the larger cities I've been in, maybe second only to Gandria itself. Half the buildings are made out of stone, and the other half, wood. There are easily several hundred, maybe even a thousand.

I spot a few dozen taverns, most of which are full with patrons singing jaunty tails about life at sea. I look to my right, and I see Reyalinn staring wide eyed at some of the native inhabitants of Jurai.

"Are those…"

"Goblins?" I finish for her. "Yes."

Jurai is a mix race country. The majority is goblins, but there are mix of humans, dwarves, and even some orcs. They mostly came here as traders, and eventually settled down. One way or another, the sea brought them here.

Popular myth says that the goblins are actually the remnants of the ancient elves, cursed into this existence by some ancient force. Personally, I think that's bullshit. The goblins are taller than dwarves, but shorter than humans, and five times uglier. Large hooked nose, large eyes, ears two times too large for their heads, and awkward angels all around.

The ancient elves were a beautiful race. Fair of skin, tall, elegant, and graceful. And their longevity was second to none. You can still see their likenesses in statues and portraits. To say that goblins are the descendants of the elves is an insult in my opinion.

We make our way down into the harbor district. No one pays us more than one glance. It's obvious that we have nothing worth stealing, and in a city this large, there's bound to be a lot of pickpockets. There were dozens of boats of all types.

"These all look like warships to me." Reyalinn comments as we get closer.

I peer at the flags that the majority are flying. "Juran navy warships. Quite an impressive amount they have."

"I doubt they will ship us to Gandria."

"I agree. We have to find a merchant or charter vessel."

We dodge between busy dockworkers moving supplies around, and fishermen bringing in their catch. I spot a human bending over a crate and tap him on the soldier.

"Excuse me sir, do you know where we could find a ship that will take two passengers to Gandria."

He looked up from what he was doing, and brushed his hands off on his apron. "Gandria, yeh say? A priv'teer be yeh best bet."

"Where about in this harbor would they be?"

"Near the east end, past all them fisheries."

"Thank you."

He simply grunts and goes back to his work. I nod to Reyalinn and we make our way eastward down the docks.

As we walk, we pass several groups of sailors, each armed and dressed for the sea. Light cloth pants, and white shirts with blue Juran markers. Each has a scimitar at their side as well.

Reyalinn seems awfully overdressed walking through these crowds with her full plate armor on, but it can't be helped. At least she looks like someone to not be messed with. The only second looks I get are because I'm dressed as a member of the Imperial Army.

Eventually the Juran war boats disappear and are replaced with various fishing boats, from small twenty-footers, to large whalers that have ballistae harpoons. The smell of fish in this section of the city is overwhelming, and I find myself breathing in through my mouth rather than my nose.

Overhead, the twin suns did not help at all. The heat in this port was immense, and did not help the smell. Luckily, there was a nice sea breeze so it was tolerable. There was not a cloud in the sky, unless you count the thousands of gulls in the air looking for a free meal of fish.

"Do you like fish?" I ask Reyalinn.

"It's about all we ever ate in Krul. It's too cold most of the time for much else, and the farming season is very short."

"Well, I think I can see a lot of fish in our foreseeable future."

"I would like to try lobster or crab. I've never had it, and this is the heart of the industry."

"I've only had lobster once, but it was good from what I remember. I'm sure you'll get your chance."

We arrive at the eastern part of the harbor, which has a different ambiance to it. Things are more rowdy, and less organized. Without the presence of the Juran navy, or the frantic pace of the fishermen trying to meet the day's quota, the people were different. Merchants and mercenaries roamed these parts, along with their hanger's on.

With the rich merchants and the swashbuckling mercenaries, they draw people who stand to benefit from them. Be it someone looking to escort the merchants, or a thief to rob them, or a warrior looking to join in a mercenary privateer, or looking to become a pirate, they were all found here.

You can't ignore the industry that has built up around these people either. It's a seedier place, catering to seedier people. Dirty taverns, overworked blacksmiths, and brothels could all be seen without even having to turn your head.

Not sure of what else to do, I decide to simply ask around.

"Excuse me sir, are you going to Gandria? No? Never mind then."

"Sir, do you have room for two to Gandria? No?"

"Captain, any room for two fighters who need to go to Gandria? No? Sorry for bothering you."

It seemed like none of these ships were going to Gandria. A few went to Nazgrimah, but most were just going to other ports in Jurai.

I must have talked to two dozen crewmen, and Reyalinn even tried to use her girlish charm, but we had no luck.

That is until we met a toothless goblin wearing a black bandana and an eye patch, along with a wooden peg, and 4 short swords strapped to his waist.

"Excuse me, are you the captain of this fine vessel?" I tried to be as nice and polite as possible, but the boat was an oldie. It was large, but it had clearly seen better days. I could see several pieces of rotting wood, and missing pitch in many places. The sails and mast seemed fine, but I was concerned about the obvious ballista damage.

"That be me." The captain replied in a cultured accent. "What can I do for ya?"

"We are seeking passage to Gandria… none of the other ships are heading that way."

"We'll head anywhere if the price is right." He replied nonchalantly, giving a small smile. Or perhaps it was a grimace, it was hard to tell.

"We don't have any gold -"

"Then why are you bothering me?" he responded testily, before walking away.

Reyalinn rolled her eyes and shook her head in ill-disguised disappointment. "It's obvious here that everyone is only looking for money. There isn't a kind soul in the lot."

"I am beginning to believe that. I wouldn't mind paying, but we don't even have two bronzies to rub together, let alone the dozens of gold I'm sure the captain will want."

It was then that I heard a coughing sound from behind us. It was the kind of sound that someone makes to get your attention. We both turn around to look at the newcomer.

It's an orc, and a very tall one at that. Well into six feet, and maybe even taller than Haephmos and closer to seven feet. She's a full head and shoulders taller than me, and it's obvious she is a female.

I'll be blunt; it's the breasts. Their right at my eye level, and they are hard to miss when they are pushed up within her corset style segmented armor. They are very large by human standards, but for a seven foot orc they were probably average. She wasn't repulsive looking either. Her green skin is probably the first I've seen that didn't look hideous; it was actually pleasant to the eyes.

She has black shoulder length hair, pure black eyes, and very white teeth. He face is without blemish, much like Reyalinn's. But there is something utterly _off_ about her that I can't place, and it's not because this may be the only attractive orc in existence. Maybe it's just the fact I've never met an orc who didn't try to kill me.

"Hello?" I greet the orc.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the captain."

"Ok?"

"I know how you can make some quick gold. The mercenary's guild in the city has been looking for hires. The city guard has been fighting bandits for the last two days, and their looking for a band of mercenaries to go around back, discover where the leader is, and kill him."

"Oh, is that it?" I ask with sarcasm in my voice.

"Unless my eyes mistake me, I see in front of me a mage and Angelknight from Gandria, who both need money to buy their way onto a boat, and across the ocean to their homeland."

"And why are you telling us this?" Reyalinn asks.

"Because I haven't been to Gandria in many years."

"Oh, you work on this boat?"

"I own it." She replies nonchalantly.

"Oh… it's very nice."

"Don't cut that shit with me. I'm telling you this because the boat obviously needs repairs, and repairs don't come cheap. I'll even show you to the nearest guild hall."

I ponder her words, but I make eye contact with Reyalinn. She slowly nods her head.

"Alright. take us there."

She sweeps by us, and her black cloak billows out behind her. Her spiked boots make surprisingly little sound on the wooden dock as we struggle to match pace with her.

The Guild hall is in one of the nicer parts of town. It's a sparkling alabaster building with a nice garden around it. The nearby buildings are also upper class as well, being 2 or even 3 stories tall.

It was amazing to see the change in the city even just 100 feet away from the docks. The smell wasn't as bad, and everything just seemed brighter and more peaceful.

"So, do you get a referral fee or something for bringing us here?" Reyalinn asks.

"No. I am banned from the guild, and they would probably kill me upon entering."

"Oh…"

"Otherwise I would have done their little mission by myself." The orc goes to turn away but I quickly ask.

"What's your name?"

"Karina Ghostblade. Now try to not get yourselves killed. Ta ta." She waves at us mockingly as she turns around.

Karina walks away, barely making any noise despite the arsenal of weapons I spot hiding in the folds of her armor and cloak. Two axes, two swords, a half dozen daggers, and a crossbow, and that is just what was in plain view. I feel inadequate with just a single dull orcish sword as we walk into the Mercenary Guild's Hall.

"Well, we've come too far now to turn around."


End file.
